


something 'bout it felt like home

by Lymans



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-S1, Slight S2 spoilers, christmas in july
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymans/pseuds/Lymans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her love life is not some romantic saga from the 1600s. She is a single twenty-something in Manhattan in the twenty-first century and Jake Peralta is not her dreamy hero." Amy realises she might like Jake after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something 'bout it felt like home

**Author's Note:**

> So it's July and it's pretty hot. Therefore I decided it would be the perfect time to write a fic set at Christmas. Obviously. It's my favourite time of year; I can't help myself. I have a weakness for Christmas, romantic speeches and friends turning into lovers. Combine all three of those and it turns it this 11.5K monster. I have no idea how it happened. It was never supposed to be that long.
> 
> Also, fair warning, the inspiration for this fic came from some S2 spoilers. Therefore if you don't want to know what happens with Amy/Teddy, this isn't the fic for you.
> 
> I've also directly and indirectly referenced way too many TV shows and movies that I love. I'm not sorry.

Amy slumps down on her sofa and wonders exactly what she has done to deserve a day this crummy. A drunken homeless man threw up right in front of her, the subway was so crowded that she’d ended up with her face pressed against the armpit of a man who clearly had not showered in at least a week, and the elevator in her apartment building was broken forcing her to lug her shopping up five flights of stairs. And that was all just after she had left work. The less said about her failed drugs bust and hopeless attempts to solve a local robbery the better. All in all, this has turned out to be a terrible Thursday.

All she wants right now is a hot bath, a glass of wine and a decent meal. Unfortunately the only wine she has left is a cheap bottle Marco left the last time he came round and her cooking skills have not remotely improved since last year’s disastrous Thanksgiving. Teddy was the one in the relationship who could cook and she enjoyed going to his after work some evenings for a meal that she would never have any hope of making for herself. But of course she said goodbye to all of that when she dumped him on Thanksgiving, a day that had to rank in the top five for the worst days to break up with someone. Even though she knows it had been the right decision, it still feels like a callous move. And it is one that she regrets. Not because she still has feelings for Teddy but rather because, in the week since their break-up, it has dawned on her that this is the worst time of the year to be single.

Everything about Christmas screams togetherness. It’s the holiday season and you’re never supposed to spend it alone. Television adverts and shop windows are filled with reminders that this is the time to be with the people you love and that you should be spending every waking moment finding ways to show the people in your life how much you care. It is not the time of year for being single and reeling from a break-up.

That’s not to say that Amy is totally alone. She has her family back in New Jersey who will all demand her presence on Christmas Day. And there’s Kylie, her best friend, who she can always depend on. And she can’t forget her work family, the strange amalgamation of individuals at the Nine-Nine who she has come to care for greatly. None of those are quite the same as that someone special though. Teddy might not have been the one but at least he was someone who was there for her and wanted to be with her.

Amy knows that she is being pathetic and she has always prided herself on her independence and lack of reliance on anybody else. Growing up with seven brothers didn’t leave much room for seeking sympathy and support. Her brothers are wonderful but they've never carried her or gone easy on her simply because she is a girl and younger than them. They, along with her parents, have taught her to be tough and self-reliant, a skill she is incredibly grateful for as an adult. But that doesn't prevent from feeling lonely on winter nights like tonight.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, she shakes her head. “Pull it together,” she mutters. “You’re better than this.”

Standing up, she tugs her winter coat back on and leaves her apartment, heading for the streets of Brooklyn. As she descends the stairs, she winds her scarf around her neck and braces herself for the cold weather. Snow has not yet started to fall but it feels like it isn't far off. While the city looks beautiful in the snow, it always seems to lose some of its sanity as it begins to fall and she has gotten used to snow meaning more ridiculous crimes passing across her desk.

Pushing open the door to her apartment building, a harsh wind welcomes her and she pulls her coat tighter around her and makes her way towards her favourite café two blocks away. While Starbucks has long since infiltrated her hipster neighbourhood, many of the independent businesses are still around, including a small café slash second-hand bookshop that she often frequents on her rare days off. It’s your classic café meaning it’s filled with unemployed screenwriters who tap away on their laptops penning what they believe to be the next The Social Network, awkward first dates that are obviously never going to go anywhere and stay-at-home moms gossiping about the mundane goings-on of their fellow moms. It serves incredible coffee though and she tends to find a good new book to read while she enjoys her drink.

Inside she spends ten minutes searching for a book, eventually settling for a worn copy of an old James Patterson book – she enjoys seeing how quickly she can solve the mystery – before ordering a hazelnut latte at the counter, successfully avoiding the scrawny college student who always tries to ask her out even though he's ten years her junior, which she takes over to a table in the corner by the window, offering her a view of the bustling street outside. The coffee is rich and delicious as always and she happily loses herself in the novel, thoughts of heartbreak and loneliness forgotten.

That is until about halfway through her latte when a couple sits down at the table across from hers. They look to be in their mid-twenties and blissfully unaware of anyone around them. Smug loved up couples are typically unbearable, whether or not she is in a relationship, but something about this couple catches her eye. She watches them surreptitiously over the top of her novel, unable to tear her eyes away. They’re paying little attention to their drinks and are instead talking intently. The man says something and the woman swats at his arm as if annoyed but her eyes crinkle softly and she is unable to stop herself from laughing. The man smiles back at her and, seemingly incapable of stopping himself, leans over the table to kiss her softly. The look of love in his eyes makes Amy’s heart hurt.

There is only one time she can think of anyone looking at her like that.

Pushing that memory aside, she takes a large gulp of coffee before stuffing her book into her bag and hurrying out of the café. Thoughts like that never lead anywhere good and she’s prided herself on avoiding that particular train of thought over the past eight months. The most effective solution she has found for when her brain tries to make her think about things she would much rather not think about is to consume the bottle of cheap wine in her fridge while reading over case reports until she falls asleep.

* * *

 

Amy falls asleep just after eleven only to be awoken an hour later by some deranged cat in the alley next to her window. She stumbles out of bed, still half asleep, and slams the window shut, which does a poor job of silencing the howling but it’s better than nothing. Then she climbs back into bed and cocoons herself under her quilt, hoping for sleep to return quickly and offer her a peaceful night’s rest.

Unfortunately her dreams have other ideas.

She finds herself standing outside the precinct with Jake, face earnest and his eyes loving, on a night that is painfully familiar to her.

“I kinda wish something could happen between us…romantic stylez.” That night her heart had felt like it would burst right out of her chest and she had been amazed he couldn’t hear it pounding. It had been so loud that she was sure all of New York could hear it. And again she can feel it pounding in her chest as his words ring in her head.

Her dream diverts from reality here. Rather than talking about Teddy and fleeing, leaving her standing on the street confused and overwhelmed, Jake stays.

 “I love you, Amy.”

Before she can react, he steps forward and kisses her. His lips are soft against hers as he kisses her gently, as if wary of her reaction, but when she doesn’t push him away, he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her flush against him, pressing his body to hers. His body is warm against hers and she can’t stop herself from looping her arms around his neck as she opens her mouth slightly, silently begging him to deepen the kiss.

Of course, as is the cruelty of dreams, that is the exact moment she wakes up.

Her alarm clock displays that it is 2:18 and she flops back onto her pillows, panting slightly and trying to ignore the fact that her heart is racing and her body is craving the warmth of Jake’s touch.

Damn her stupid brain for giving her inappropriate dreams. But she can’t stop herself from remembering the feel of Jake’s lips on hers and his arms holding onto her. Even though it was a mere dream, it felt so real and she has to remind herself that Jake has never kissed her. Then she curses herself for the feeling of longing that overcomes her at that thought.

She isn’t interested in Jake. She isn’t.

‘That’s why you broke up with Teddy only two months after he came back,’ a small voice in her head that sounds strangely like Gina whispers, ‘and why you broke up with him because he just wasn’t fun and spontaneous enough like a certain person you know.’

She rolls over and buries her face in her pillow.

“Shut up.”

 She does not have feelings for Jake Peralta.

* * *

 

“Any luck with your perp, Boyle?” Amy asks as she passes through the bullpen.

“No. But I am certain a break is just around the corner,” he says optimistically.

“I am sure it is.”

She can’t help but smile at his confidence in his case. She wishes she felt the same when it came to her robbery but every turn she makes seems to come up blank.

She takes a deep breath as she approaches her desk. Jake had been out seeking any potential witnesses for the murder he was working on with Rosa when she had gotten into work which had been a relief after last night’s dreams. When sleep had eventually returned, her brain had chosen to taunt her with more romantic situations involving Jake and she had woken up with flushed cheeks and a racing heart. So she had been thankful to avoid her partner the following morning. But now he’s back, leaning back in his chair and idly fiddling with a Rubix cube.

“Morning,” she says, sliding into her chair and avoiding his gaze.

“Why do you think a balding middle aged man would own at least…ten cats? Because I interviewed him this morning and I am no closer to solving that puzzle.”

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes remain locked on the report in front of her and she feigns being gripped by the inventory list of what was stolen from the computer shop on Ninth. The non-existent memory of his lips on her neck from last night’s dream flashes through her mind and her cheeks burn.

“Do you think he decided to just give in to his inevitable loneliness? Why not something macho like a pitbull?”

“Cats can be macho.”

“How?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs, still staring determinedly at her desk and hoping he will pick up on her unwillingness to talk.

“Are you reading some secret guide on how to impress your robot Captain? Because otherwise I see no reason why you are looking at a piece of paper that intently.”

“It’s called reading,” she says, finally flicking her eyes up to look at him. “Some people do it to help solve a case.”

Whatever witty retort he’s about to throw back at her is lost because Terry approaches their desk and begins to question Jake on his murder case. Amy knows she should turn her attention back to the report in front of her but another flash from her dream, this time of Jake pressing her up against the interrogation room wall and kissing her senseless, enters her head and she can’t help but let her gaze roam over him.

His hair is slightly wispy at the ends, as if he hasn’t had time to go to the barbers lately, and she likes the way it makes him look slightly more innocent and softer. He’s smiling broadly at something Terry's saying and she loves how big his grin is, almost like it can barely be contained on his face. Her eyes fall to his broad shoulders and solid chest and her cheeks begin to heat up again as she remembers the feeling of dream Jake’s body pressed up against hers. A shiver runs down her spine as she takes in his strong hands, unable to stop herself from imagining his fingers trailing their way down her body.

Then she comes back to her senses. She is sat at her desk fantasising about Jake! What is happening?

Shoving her chair back, she scoops up the file from her desk, mumbles some half-hearted excuse about doing some research in the reports room before scurrying away. She has six hours of her shift left. That’s a plausible amount of time to spend researching the old fashioned way, right?

* * *

 

“I have a problem,” Amy says, slumping down on the sofa next to Kylie who is gearing up their movie for the evening.

“You’ve realised that twelve presents is too many to get your best friend this year and that you need to tone it down. Because good. I was feeling very inferior last year.”

“No – and I’m only getting you eight this time.” She pauses, wondering if she can say the words aloud. “I think I might possibly be attracted to Jake.”

Kylie doesn’t even flick her gaze away from the DVD menu.

“Oh is that all?”

“Is that all?” Amy repeats incredulously.

“I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t already know.”

“How could you possibly know about my feelings for Jake? I didn’t even know until a couple of days ago!”

“I hate to break it to you, Ames, but you’ve been into Jake for longer than two days.” She twists on the couch to face her friend and folds her legs underneath her. “Are you really telling me you had no idea how you felt towards him?”

“No. I mean we’ve been friends for ages now but I never really thought it was any more than that. I know he told me how he felt months ago but I was with Teddy so I didn’t think about it.”

“So when Jake said he wanted something to happen between the two of you, you never even vaguely entertained the idea of dating him?”

“I…” She stops.

She can’t deny that she hadn’t immediately shut down any idea of being with him when he had confessed how he had felt. The night he told her, she had blown off Teddy and ended up wandering along the river imagining what it might be like to be with Jake. She had even gone to bed considering whether she might feel the same way towards him. But the next morning she had returned to reality which meant dating Teddy, working cases with people who weren’t Jake and getting on her with life. By the time Jake returned from his undercover work, six months had passed and she was comfortable and happy with Teddy. There had been no good reason to disrupt her life to take a gamble on feelings that might have faded in his time away.

“Exactly,” Kylie says smugly. “If you had never had feelings for him then you would never have even considered dating him. I think if you think about it, you’ll realise that you’ve liked him for a lot longer that you thought.”

“Oh god.”

 She presses her hands to her face and throws her head back against the sofa.

“It’ll all be okay. Cry over some cancer-stricken teenagers with me. It’ll help.”

Kylie reminds her of Rosa in some ways, both of them reticent to get involved with feelings and emotions. So when Kylie wraps an arm around her shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze as the movie starts, Amy is incredibly thankful for her friend.

Her emerging feelings for Jake; those she is less thankful for.

* * *

On Sunday, haunted by the realisation that her feelings for Jake may have been lurking under the surface for longer than she realised, Amy takes the subway into Manhattan and wanders along Fifth Avenue, trying to lose herself in the Christmas cheer that shines from every shop window. When that fails, she meanders around Central Park, watching the ice-skaters and joyful families who are wrapped up in the holiday season, coming to a stop by a bench opposite the rink.

As she watches skaters laughing and twirling together, she thinks back on Kylie’s words. Has she really liked Jake for longer than she even realised? On her first few months at the Nine-Nine, she had found her partner unbearable and his childish attitude had almost driven her to request a transfer to another unit. But then she had begrudgingly begun to recognise just how talented a detective he was and his enthusiasm for everything had started to become less of an annoyance and more of a comforting quirk. That isn’t the same as having romantic feelings though. Attraction, that’s a different beast altogether.

She can’t deny that her partner is objectively attractive. She’s a woman in her late twenties and she can appreciate an attractive man. Her attraction to Jake though; it’s something different. Sure he’s handsome, not that she would ever tell him that, but what she likes about him is more to do with what goes on inside. He can be selfish sometimes but she’s always a little blown away by how willing he is to go above and beyond for the people he cares about. She’s not sure when it happened but at some point she started to fall under that umbrella and he’s come through for her time and time again. He’s kind and caring but he’s also a massive goofball who never fails to cheer her up. She’s seen countless horrific sights during her time on the force but she knows she can invariably count on Jake to help her move past it, whether it’s thanks to a crass joke or some crazy one-man mission of his that he drags her into. He’s one of the best people she knows, even if he can be a total idiot at points.

And then it’s there in front of her like an enormous neon sign that she’s somehow determinedly avoided noticing until right now. She likes Jake. Like _like_ likes Jake. She likes him in that middle school ‘do you want to go out with me? Tick yes or no’ way. She wants to spend Sundays watching classic cop movies with him and accompany him on hare-brained adventures and come home to him after a long shift.

She, Amy Santiago, likes Jake Peralta.

Amy sits with that realisation for a while, stewing it over in her mind and trying to come to terms with what it means. But eventually she is forced to retreat from the freezing cold and the creeping feeling of isolation that comes over her at the sight of so many happy couples and families. She seeks solace in the comfort of the New York Public Library.

Scanning the shelves in the main reading room she finds a copy of Love Letters of Great Men - a book she has had stashed on her bookshelf since Kylie bought it for her one Christmas - catching her eye. A gift that was so very un-her – she had gotten far, far more use out of the Blackberry Kylie had also treated her too that year – meaning it rarely left her shelf, had ended up becoming of use after a particularly tragic break-up in the summer of ’09. She had pulled it off her shelf in a slightly drunken stupor, still reeling from the sting of Lucas’ words that she was too frigid and boring, and the words she found contained inside had made her smile for the first time since she had been dumped. Now she often finds herself turning to it after another failure in love.

This time it only takes a few pages before she stumbles upon a letter that speaks to her; one written by William Congreve, a dramatist, written to his love, Arabella Hunt, who played music in the court of Queen Mary.

_What cannot a day produce? The night before I thought myself a happy man, in want of nothing, and in fairest expectation of fortune; approved of by men of wit, and applauded by others. Pleased, nay charmed with my friends, my then dearest friends, sensible of every delicate pleasure, and in their turns possessing all._

_But Love, almighty Love, seems in a moment to have removed me to a prodigious distance from every object but you alone. In the midst of crowds I remain in solitude. Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you. I appear transported to some foreign desert with you (oh, that I were really thus transported!), where, abundantly supplied with everything, in thee, I might live out an age of uninterrupted ecstasy._

_The scene of the world’s great stage seems suddenly and sadly chang’d. Unlovely objects are all around me, expecting thee; the charms of all the world appear to be translated to thee. Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! My soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admits, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone._

_If you and hope forsake it, despair and endless misery attend it._

To her embarrassment she feels her eyes welling up and she rapidly blinks away the tears that are forming before scanning the room to make sure no one is noticing her minor breakdown. Thankfully the library is relatively empty and everyone there is focused on their own reading and work, not noticing the crazy detective in the corner.

In a matter of days, her world has spun on its axis. Suddenly her partner, her sweet, dorky, man-child of a partner, is making her heart race and occupying her mind.

Jake is all she can contemplate, admit, adore, depend on, trust…

Amy can almost feel Rosa slapping her and she rolls her eyes at herself. Her love life is not some romantic saga from the 1600s. She is a single twenty-something in Manhattan in the twenty-first century and Jake Peralta is not her dreamy hero.

She has to pull it together or she is going to make herself vomit at her lovelorn nature. She is Amy Santiago for Christ’s sake; she is better than this.

* * *

 

Determined thinking is all well and good on a Sunday afternoon in the safe retreat of the beauty of the New York Public Library, far away from reality, but it doesn’t stand up so well when faced with her desk partner.

The first couple of days back at work are some of the hardest in Amy’s career. Not because of work itself. In actual fact, they are some of her best as she solves two seemingly impossible cases back-to-back and earns the hard won nod of approval from Captain Holt. No, the problem is of the Peralta variety.

Everything he does makes a soft smile fight to form on her lips and causes butterflies to start doing backflips in her stomach. From his attempts to annoy Holt to his cocky bragging about his latest arrest, she finds herself charmed by it all.

If she was anybody else, she would slap herself.

Her hot streak can be entirely attributed to her determination to focus on anything but Jake in the name of preventing herself from acting like some lovesick teenage girl. She interrogates suspects, she questions witnesses, she trawls over old files and she chases down perps. It is some of the best work she has ever done.

Yet she still finds thoughts of Jake niggling away at the back of her mind. She is still grappling to come to terms with her feelings for him and what they mean exactly. His constant presence and close proximity do little to help that. But she feels like she is finally starting to figure things out. By Wednesday her palms are no longer sweating when she is near him and she finds herself avoiding him less and less. Their banter becomes familiar and comfortable again and she even risks moves like the occasional casual shoulder bump, finding herself almost able to ignore the bolt of electricity that shoots through her arm. Slowly but surely it feels like things are falling into place inside her head and like she might be able to actually do something with her newly discovered feelings.

So of course, just as she is considering acting on her feelings, the universe decides to screw up all her plans.

* * *

The team are all gathered at the bar to celebrate an insanely successful week at the Nine-Nine. Amy has settled herself at a table in the corner with a glass of wine, offering her the perfect vantage point to watch the group. Boyle is talking Rosa’s ear off about his latest food blog and Amy can tell even from this distance that she isn’t even listening. Gina is flirting with some overly built guy by the jukebox while Holt and Terry are in deep conversation about some old 70s film that Amy has never heard of. She smiles at Hitchcock and Scully who are the only ones dancing to Gina’s atrocious music choice, before her eyes land on Jake and she feels her heart stop.

He’d excused himself from their conversation a few minutes ago to go get himself another drink with the promise of buying her some ridiculously overpriced cocktail because she “needed something a little fruity in her life.” She had laughed and swatted him away, an act reminiscent of the couple in the café, before turning attention to their colleagues.

But now she finds that Jake is not focused on the task of selecting some fruity cocktail for her with a no doubt embarrassing name. Instead he is focused on the blonde woman in front of him. Amy watches as she says something and he laughs in that way she knows he laughs when he wants to be charming. As he replies, he leans in closer and says something that makes his companion laugh and lean on his arm for support. She leaves it there and as Jake moves even closer to her, Amy fells something hot flair in her veins, something that feels akin to jealousy.

A deep voice disturbs her thoughts. “Are you alright, Santiago?”

Startled she glances to her right to find Captain Holt standing next to her. “Yes, sir. Fine,” she replies, forcing a smile onto her face.

He does not reply immediately and instead looks in the direction that had previously gripped her attention. He watches Jake closely as he laughs with the woman, clearly entranced by her. Amy swears that, just for a moment, something that almost resembles disappointment flits across his face. But then his face returns to his normal unreadable expression and Amy dismisses it.

“Sometimes Peralta does not always make the best decisions straight away,” he says. “I have found he tends to need a little…encouragement.” Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he awkwardly pats her on the shoulder before returning to Terry’s table.

Did Captain Holt just give her dating advice? From anyone else, those words would sound like advice on her feelings for Jake. But Captain Holt wouldn’t engage with such things, would he?

‘A little encouragement.’ She swirls the words around in her mind, contemplating them and wondering whether he is right. Jake took a risk when it came to her all those months ago – granted one that hadn’t paid off, but that was how a risk worked – so perhaps she should do the same.

Then the universe steps in.

“See you Monday, folks,” Jake calls with a cheery wave before he leads the blonde woman out of the bar in the direction of a cab.

Tears sting at her eyes and she quickly swallows the remnants of her drink while simultaneously signalling to the barman for another. And as he places it in front of her, she is sure she feels her heart break.

It only gets worse on Monday.  

“She loves Die Hard and the Nets! And she wasn’t remotely put off by my crap hole of an apartment. She may just be the perfect woman!”

It’s like Jake is playing on a loop, but every time Amy has to listen to him gush over the woman from the bar, it is like a punch in the gut. It turns out he hadn’t just met her. In fact they had gone on a date last year which had been terminated by some form of freak out from Boyle. Then they had bumped into each other at the bar and, after clearing up some crossed wires, Jake had taken her home. And now apparently he’s smitten. Which is just Amy’s luck.

Boyle keeps coming over to their desk for more details and Amy swears she is going to scream if she has to hear about how perfect Bernice is one more time.

“Santiago, you want to help me out on this robbery investigation? I hate door to door. Waste of time,” Rosa grumbles as she approaches Amy’s desk.

Door to door is hardly high on Amy’s personal enjoyment list either but it is an escape from Jake’s never-ending chatter so she seizes Rosa’s offer.

“Whoever it was cleared the place,” Rosa says as they drive towards the apartment block. “The residents are a bunch of wealthy assholes but I figure one of them must have noticed something.”

“Well if they did then we’ll get it out of them. You got a copy of the case file?”

“On the backseat.”

Amy reaches backwards and grabs the manila folder, perusing the contents as Rosa drives them across Brooklyn.

They can’t be far from their destination when Rosa says something that Amy fails to catch.

“What was that?”

“I said Peralta’s an idiot.”

Amy stops. “What?” She turns to look at Rosa but she keeps her eyes fixed on the road.

“I don’t care about your business but it’s obvious you like him and he likes you. I don’t know why he’s wasting time on what’s-her-face.”

“Obvious?”

“You moon over him all the time. Not that he’d notice. Men are idiots.” Then, in a rare act of emotion from her colleague, Rosa says, “You’re far better than that girl he’s wasting his time on.”

Then she turns the conversation back to the case, marking the end of her interest in the topic, but Amy can’t help but smile at her words. At least Rosa has her back.

* * *

 

“You want to interrogate him, primary?” Jake asks as they hover outside the interrogation room. He’s been trying so much harder since he came back from his undercover work to be a better secondary. She’s been too nervous to ask what happened to him during those six months that made him realise the importance of being a good secondary rather than always charging in first.

“What about the old good cop, bad cop routine?”  

“Two is better than one. Dream team,” he grins, holding up a hand for her to high five which she enthusiastically high fives back. They’ve been working on this case for almost two months and they’ve finally caught the guy. Now all they have to do is try and get a confession out of him to help tighten their case. Even if he doesn’t confess, the evidence speaks for itself – he obviously murdered his business partner – but a confession always helps the prosecution’s case.

It only takes him twenty minutes to crack and Amy is impressed they manage to stop themselves from celebrating until they exit the room. But the minute they do, Jake scoops her up and spins her around, whooping in celebration.

“That was fantastic, Santiago! You nailed him with the DNA evidence and then kicked him when he was already down with those emails,” he says as he sets her back down. “That was a masterpiece in interrogation. You didn’t even need me in there.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her grins so broadly at her she thinks his face might crack and she smiles back at him, overwhelmed with pride at how good they are together, and they stand in that dimly lit hallway grinning at each other like idiots.

In that moment Amy wants to tell him that she wants romantic stylez stuff to happen between them too. She wants it so much and she is kicking herself for not realising it when he got back two and a half months ago. He’s looking at her like she is the sun and the words are on the tip of her tongue.

“You want me to move him to holding?” a uniform cop asks, walking down the hall and interrupting their moment.

“That’d be great. Excellent work, Santiago,” Jake says, punching her shoulder lightly before strolling back down the hall.

Moment over. Words unsaid.

Amy takes a deep breath and follows him back down the hall into the bullpen, pushing aside unsaid confessions in favour of a smile at the applause that greets the pair of them from their colleagues.

“Well done you two,” Holt says with a nod. “You make a great team.”

“Amazing,” Boyle gushes, hugging both of them enthusiastically. “The way you figured it out from that old Chinese takeout receipt – inspired!”

“It was all Santiago,” Jake says. As he smiles at her, his eyes soften and the look he gives her makes her heart stop. It is filled with love and she feels like it’s that night outside the precinct all over again. But then he blinks and it’s gone. “Drinks tonight. First round is on me! You can all meet Bernice.”

“Haven’t you only been seeing her for a week?” Gina asks.

“Yeah but you know what they say, eyes closed, head first, can’t lose.”

“That is not the expression.”

There is a pang in Amy's heart but she ignores it in favour of accepting Hitchcock’s congratulations. The pain can wait until she is back at home.

Turning her attention back to work is effective and the rest of the day passes quickly. Before she knows it, everyone is shrugging on their winter coats and heading for the door.

“You coming?” Jake asks as the two of them log off their computers for the night.

“Can’t,” she says, spouting the words she has mentally rehearsed throughout the day. “I promised Antonio I’d pop round. I haven’t seen him or Christina in forever.”

“Oh okay.” He sounds disappointed but then he shrugs it off, resuming his classic Jake grin. “I’ll drink one in your honour.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She follows him and the rest of the group out of the building and says her goodbyes, wishing them all a good weekend, before turning left where the rest of them turn right.

Snow has yet to fall but it’s still a freezing cold December night and Amy is thankful for her woolly hat that Jake had enjoyed mercilessly mocking the first time he saw her wearing it. Carried along by her fellow commuters, she finds herself, not thinking about Jake, but rather marvelling at the beauty of the city in winter. The past few weeks have passed in a blur. It’s been three weeks since she broke up with Teddy but it feels like a lifetime ago. Time always seems to move so slowly in the winter. In only a matter of weeks, New York has changed to a dark, sparkling city. Christmas lights shine from every building and carefully decorated trees can be seen through every living room window Amy peers into. Shoppers hurry by with bags of presents and food under their arms and she has to dart at least three times to avoid being hit by rolls of wrapping paper. Buskers on the street corner play classic Christmas songs and one in particular, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, had been Amy’s father’s favourite. As she passes that particular busker, she digs in her coat pocket for some spare change, dropping into his open guitar case as she passes.

“Merry Christmas, Miss,” he says and she smiles warmly back.

Descending the subway steps, she feels surprisingly happy. So Jake doesn’t feel that way towards her anymore. She’s a grown woman. She isn’t going to let one man ruin her mood and her Christmas.

* * *

 

That evening Amy is a woman on a mission. As she exits the subway, she spots a still open shop selling Christmas trees. It’s only a block from her apartment so with steely determination she parts with $50 and drags the hefty tree up the street, probably looking like a mad woman to passers-by. Thankfully her landlord has gotten the elevator fixed and, with a lot of huffing and puffing, she manages to shove both the tree and herself inside. Sure it loses a few branches on the way in and out but she is rather proud of herself for getting a six foot tree all the way into the apartment by herself.

Her decorations had been put away in the back of the hallway cupboard in January and she takes them out, silently thanking her past self for organising them so carefully before cursing the way Christmas lights, an inanimate object, always manage to get themselves tangled up even though she put them away perfectly wrapped almost a year ago.

Arming herself with a glass of wine and cueing up some Michael Bublé on her iPod, she sets to decorating her apartment. She swears and curses as she battles with the Christmas lights, swears again when she drops an ornament and immediately steps on one of the shards, and tears up as she unearths the ornaments her grandmother had passed onto her when she died.

By ten o’clock she is proud of her efforts. The tree sparkles in the window with the ornaments reflecting the colourful lights. More tasteful white lights glint on the mantle above the fireplace as well as around the column separating the kitchen and the living room. Faux holly hangs on her bedroom door and there’s even a tacky dancing Santa that Jake bought for her as a joke a couple of years ago sitting on her dining table.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, she flicks through the channels until she lands on a re-run of Chicago PD. Arming herself with a needle, thread and a bowl full of popcorn, she begins to make the popcorn chains, the final decoration for her tree, as she watches Voight offer Burgess a permanent spot in his unit.

She feels proud of herself. Last week she would have crumbled at the idea of Jake bringing Bernice to meet everyone. The fact that there is an untouched tub of Ben and Jerry’s in her freezer is testament to her strength. She has had enough of being a cliché. She will not eat ice-cream and cry over a man. She is better than that.

As Halstead interrogates the suspect, Amy’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen shows a message from Gina. Sliding it open she is greeted with a picture of everyone at the bar. Well at least everyone who is left. The older members of their unit, Hitchcock, Scully, Terry and Captain Holt seem to have made their excuses and left. But the rest of them have crammed into a selfie with Gina. Boyle is pulling a goofy face, Rosa is frowning, Gina is preening like she always does, and there, at the back, are Jake and Bernice, faces pressed together and wearing matching smiles.

She wants to delete the photo. She wants to pretend she has never seen it. But instead she forces herself to type back a message.

 _Looks fun! Wish I could have been there :(_ _x_

She switches off her phone before Gina can reply with another picture.

She isn’t going to delve into the ice-cream and cry. She refuses to be that girl. But she will have another glass of wine. Or two.

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve, Amy opts to take the train rather than fighting the traffic through the Holland tunnel to get to her mother’s. She booked early enough to grab a window seat and she watches as the train slowly leaves Manhattan behind before burying her nose in a well-worn copy of _Gone Girl_ and turning up Adele’s latest album to drown out the chatter of her fellow travellers.

As the train rolls into the station, she spots her mother standing in the midst of the crowd, looking older than she had when Amy had last seen her over the summer but still exuding the steely determination that Amy always craves to possess and tries to imitate. Her mother is practically unshakeable and she can think of very few occasions where she has seen her mother vulnerable. The months after her father’s death aside, Amy’s mother radiates confidence and is always a force to be reckoned with.

Lugging her heavy suitcase off the train, her mother immediately pushes through the crowd and embraces her only daughter.

“Amelia, you look so tired.”

“It’s been a long year, mom,” she says quietly returning her mother’s embrace as tightly as she can.

Her mother pulls back and examines Amy’s face. “Everything is not okay,” she says before pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek and taking her hand to lead her out of the station, squeezing it to let her know the topic of her daughter’s wellbeing is on pause, not forgotten.

The Santiago house is, as it always is at this time of year, a total madhouse. In the aftermath of her husband’s death, Amy’s mother refused to sell the house. And even once all of her children had moved out, she still kept it. She said it was a part of the family. Amy loves the familiarity it possesses. The hallway wallpaper is still the same right down to eight rows of pencil marks tracking her and her siblings’ height over the years. Her father’s leather chair still sits by the living room bay window and his pipe rests on the mantle. And, just like they do every Christmas, Amy knows every bedroom will be crammed full of mattresses and airbeds to accommodate as many of the Santiagos as possible.

“Amelia is here!” her mother calls as they walk inside and Amy is almost immediately besieged by numerous brothers, in-laws, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles and cousins trying to hug her. Hugs and kisses are exchanged while she simultaneously attempts to make her way through the hall. Her suitcase is lost somewhere in the swarm as is her coat. Her Aunt Gabriella pinches at her cheeks like she is a little girl again and her niece Diana tugs at the bracelet on her wrist, pulling it off and slipping it onto her own arm.

There is no place like home.

Eventually most family members are shooed away to do whatever they were doing before her arrival and her mother and aunts lead her into the kitchen. As is always the way with the older Santiago women, they all have so much to say that Amy can happily sit at the table and simply listen. A sandwich is placed in front of her and she consumes it, content with listening to her family share their stories while she eats. Living alone can get lonely sometimes and the warmth that comes from the noise of her family’s house is comforting.

Chatter soon gives way to cooking however and Amy takes that as her cue to excuse herself. Christmas dinner is taken incredibly seriously in the Santiago household and she has no intention of getting involved and screwing that meal up. So she slips away silently as her Aunt Sofia talk about the latest scandal in her office, relieved to find one of her brothers has been kind enough to take her suitcase upstairs for her.

She traces the old and familiar route upstairs to her childhood bedroom. When she had turned seven, and her three eldest brothers had left home, her mother decided it was right for the only girl to have her privacy, which meant no longer sharing a room with Carlos, her thirteen-year-old brother. Instead she was gifted with her own room. The only Santiago sibling afforded that luxury for many years, it had been a point of great jealousy between her and her siblings. Her father had always had a weakness for her smile, and her charm had led him to re-paper the bedroom a pale pink; and, in an act wildly out of character for him, he had stencilled purple flowers as a border around the whole room. Pushing open the door, the same decoration greets her and she traces the flowers with a small smile.

Another single bed is now where her desk had been back in high school and two mattresses are on the floor, signalling this is the room playing host to her eldest nieces. In the centre of her bed lies her worn red suitcase and on top is a scribbled note from Marco welcoming her home.

A soft tap on the door is accompanied by her mother’s voice. “Amelia?”

“In here, mom.”

Her mother walks into the room, her feet bare and her dark hair tied up on top of her head. There’s a smudge of flour on her right cheek, signalling she has abandoned the process of preparing tomorrow’s feast to talk to her daughter.

Closing the door, she sweeps aside the pile of clothes on the guest bed and sits down before looking up at her eldest daughter.

“Sit.”

Amy sits opposite her mother and swallows the lump in her throat. She has been trying to power on through, to be as determined and confident as her mother who would never let something like romantic feelings get in her way. But now, as she sits in her childhood bedroom, she feels like she is sixteen again and all she wants is to cry and have her mom tell her it will be okay.

Whatever she feels is written all across her face because her mother immediately stands up and joins her daughter on her bed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against her.

“Tell me what is wrong. I am worried.”

“I…” Amy pauses, takes a deep breath and says the words she has been too afraid to even say to herself. “I think I love someone but he doesn’t love me back.”

“Then he is a fool.”

“No, mama, he’s not. He…” She trails off, searching for the right word or phrase. “Despierta lo mejor de mí. He awakes the best of me. He’s like the sun. Everything is better when he is there.”

“Oh mija. How long?”

 “Longer than I realised. And I screwed it up. I had a chance and I wasted it. Now he’s moved on.”

“How can he have moved on? Who could be better than you?”

“That’s what Rosa said.”

“Then Rosa is a smart woman. Did this boy love you once?”

“I think he did. He told me how he felt and I never did anything. Now he’s given up.”

“Mija, if I know one thing about love, it is that true love never gives up or moves on. You and your brothers are proof of that, remember?” Amy smiles into her mother’s shoulder as she tells the familiar story. “Your father and I met when I was only seventeen on my uncle’s farm. We had one summer together and then he left for college and I returned to school. That should have been the end of our story. But he found me five years later at a wedding of all places. He told me that he had never forgotten me, that he had loved me since the day he met me and that the moment he had left the farm, he had known he would find me again one day. True love never dies.”

“But how am I supposed to know if it’s love, mama? And suppose he doesn’t feel the same. Everything would be ruined. Isn’t it better to stay quiet than ruin a friendship?”

At those words, her mother shifts away and turns to face her daughter.

“I am going to tell you something I have never told any of your brothers. One night your father and I had a terrible row. It was over something silly, I can’t even remember how it started now, but that’s how all fights seemed to start between us. We yelled and said unforgivable things. I told him I hated my life here and that I regretted marrying him. I didn’t mean any of the words but I was angry and I wanted to hurt him. I was stubborn; you get that trait from me,” she says with a smile, “and refused to apologise. I cast him out onto the sofa downstairs and fell asleep angry. Never go to sleep angry. The next morning I was still angry and I left for work before he even awoke. I thought I could take the day to calm down and I would apologise in the evening and tell him that I didn’t mean any of the cruel things I said and that of course I loved him. But then the call came from the hospital about the accident.” Her mother pauses to wipe away a tear and Amy reaches for her mother’s hands. She has never heard this version of the story but she knows how it ends. “He was dead by the time I got there. I never got to say goodbye. But, more importantly, I never got to say I was sorry or tell him just how much I loved him. I left it too late.” Tears are in both their eyes, the loss of a father and husband still causing such heartache after all these years, and Amy can see the pain and regret in her mother’s eyes at words unsaid. “You never know if it’ll be too late to say the things you need to say. It was too late for me. It doesn’t have to be too late for you. Even if he says he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s better than always wandering what if.”

“But…”

No buts, mija. You are my daughter and you are a Santiago. You are a confident, smart, amazing woman. You don’t ever need to worry about buts.”

* * *

 

In a burst of confidence and emotion, because her mother is right, she is a Santiago and her mother’s daughter, and she is the daughter of two people who believed in true love, Amy finds herself on a train back to New York on Christmas Eve. She has no idea what she is going to say or what she is going to do but the sight of her mother’s regrets after all these years are enough to make her at least try and avoid carrying her own years from now.

When the train pulls into the city, she barges her way through the crowds, ignoring the cries of indignation from the tourists and last minute shoppers that fill the station, charging determinedly for the subway. She boards the train for Brooklyn and for once she doesn’t even care about the crowded carriages or the man with BO that she is pressed against.

But as the train gets closer to Brooklyn, she feels the Amy side of her personality kick in. Jake told her how he felt nine months ago. That’s a long time. A lot can change in that time. And he’s with someone else now. What right does she have to barge up and disrupt that?

‘He did exactly that to you,’ the voice in her head reminds her.

He had. He had stood in front of her, knowing she was involved with someone else, and told her how he felt. And she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings. But he had taken the risk. He had decided it was better to say how he felt than to simply ask what if. He had been courageous and confident. All the things she always tried to be.

The train slows for the stop for Jake’s apartment and she takes a deep breath. She at least has to try. And it’s Christmas. As Love Actually and Jim Halpert taught her, if you can’t say it at Christmas, when can you?

Swiping her Metro card, she races up at the steps two at a time. But at the subway entrance, she stops. A musician with a violin is playing Auld Lang Syne while a young woman sings along with a hauntingly beautiful voice. And accompanying their performance is the most wondrous sight, the first snow fall of the season. At some point between Amy arriving in Manhattan and her making it to Brooklyn, snow had started to fall and a light sheet covers the streets, the snow seeming to fall more and more rapidly by the second. It crunches under her boots as she starts down the street, flakes clinging to her dark hair and coat and even landing on her nose. While those around her hurry to get out of the snow, Amy walks slowly, relishing the beauty of the snow and enjoying the final few minutes before she potentially makes a total idiot out of herself.

Quicker than she would have liked, Jake’s street appears in front of her and she finds herself standing in front of his building. The snow on his front stoop is pure and untouched, just like the streets, and suddenly she has an idea. If she is going to make a fool of herself, she might as well go the full hog. Having visited both him and Gina here enough times, she knows that the front first floor window is his living room and she can see his garish tree with its brightly coloured lights in the window. Bending down she scoops up some snow and forms it into a tight snowball and then throws it against the window, just as her brothers had taught her to when she was five. It hits the pane with a satisfying thud and she forms another and throws it with pretty much perfect aim. The third hits the window frame instead but the fourth whacks solidly against the middle of the glass and it’s that one that brings Jake to the window. He pulls open the window and sticks his head out, looking ready to yell at the teenagers he assumes are down in the street. But when he sees Amy standing there, a confused expression forms on his face.

“Santiago, what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s snowing, Peralta.”

“I can see that. It doesn’t explain why you’re throwing snowballs at my window like a maniac on Christmas Eve though.”

“Just get down here would you.”

He steps back from the window grumbling, and she is sure she hears him mutter “mad woman,” before closing the window.

Shifting from side to side, she rubs her damp hands together and counts the seconds to keep her from contemplating the madness of what she is doing. As she waits, more snow falls, clinging to her and falling fast enough to quickly cover where she scooped the snow for her ammunition.

The front door to the apartment block opens and Jake shuffles out. He’s wearing sweatpants and an NYPD hoodie under a large duffle coat. He’s tugged a woolly hat on his head in a seeming rush judging from the hair wildly sticking out of it and she swallows thickly as she takes in the glasses he’s wearing and the dark stubble that lines his jaw. Honestly, she thinks to herself, he has no right to look that attractive.

“You wear glasses?” she asks before cursing herself for opening with such a ridiculous question. But she’s never seen him wearing glasses in their whole time working together, which seems terribly unfair since he has often gotten to see her wearing her ‘granny’ glasses.

“Only for reading, sometimes. Did you come all the way out here to ask me that? Aren’t you supposed to be in New Jersey?”

“I came out here to tell you something and I need you to just listen while I do, okay?” She takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “I think I might be in love with you.” Judging from his expression, whatever he expected to say, it wasn’t that. He opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head and he closes his mouth. “I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I ever realised. All that cheesy crap they say in movies about knowing when it’s right and when someone’s special, I feel that with you. When I’m around you, life is better. You make me better. No one makes me feel the way you do. You used to be nothing more than my annoying partner. But somehow you wormed your way in and became my friend. Then you told me that you wanted more between us. And I didn’t know if I wanted that or if I could give you that. It scared me, the idea of us. So I stayed with Teddy because he was safe and dependable and he didn’t scare me the way you do. But I’ve realised that being scared is good. It’s good if it can lead to something extraordinary. And I think we could be extraordinary together. I know I have no right to say this to you when you’re seeing someone else. And I recognise the irony in our reversed positions from nine months ago. But if I don’t tell you how I feel then I know I would regret it forever. Being friends and partners isn’t enough for me anymore.” Then she pauses before reiterating his words from almost a year ago. “I kinda wish something could happen between us…romantic stylez. And I know it can’t ‘cause you’re with Bernice and that’s just how it is. Anyway, it’s Christmas, so I should go.”

He doesn’t say a word, his face blank. Her pride stings and she can feel hot tears forming in her eyes but she’s done it, declared her feelings on Christmas Eve in some gooey romantic speech. She’s proud of herself for that, even if she has been shot down.

“Merry Christmas, Jake.”

Shoving her hands in her pocket, she begins to make her way back down the street.

“Santiago, wait!” Turning back, she sees Jake jogging down the steps, probably cursing his choice of canvas shoes under his breath.  He catches up with her and reaches out for her as if he can physically stop her from walking away. “You can’t say something like that and walk away.”

“Didn’t you?” she says immediately, regretting it as a flash of pain passes across his face. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I came out here to talk about. I just needed you to know how I felt. That’s all.”

“You love me?” he asks, seemingly not having heard her last few words.

“I think I love you.”

“You think you love me?”

“Yes. I think I love you.” She feels a quiet confidence coming over her and she lifts her chin up. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“Right,” he nods before frowning slightly as if mulling her words over. Then a broad grin breaks over his face. “You like me,” he says as if he is a little boy teasing her on the playground.

She groans. “Oh god, are you going to be unbearable about this?”

“You want to kiss me, you want to hug me, you want to love me, you want to marry me.”

“Grow up, Jake.”

She turns on heel and begins to make her way back down the street. What had she been expecting when she showed up to make a romantic declaration to Jake Peralta of all people? He’s still a man-child underneath it all.

“Amy, wait.”

This time he grabs her arm and pulls her towards him. But the snow is slippery underneath her feet and she finds herself slipping. She stumbles and Jake pulls her flush against him, wrapping his other arm around her waist. Their position feels reminiscent of one she had found herself in with dream Jake and she feels her cheeks become flush at the memory. His chest is hard against her body and even through her coat she can feel the warmth of his arms around her. He’s looking down at her, blinking slowly, and she can’t help but wonder how she never noticed how long his eyelashes were before. All traces of joking have vanished and he is looking at her with something that almost resembles wonder.

“I’m sorry. I can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.”

“You don’t say,” she smirks.

“Amy,” he says, his face serious now. “I think I might love you too.”

“What about Bernice?” she asks quietly, terrified of shattering this moment.

“She’s not you.”

Before she can react, he bends down and kisses her. His lips are soft against hers at first as he gently kisses her. Looping her arms around his neck, she opens her mouth slightly, begging for him to deepen the kiss. And this time it isn’t a dream that suddenly and cruelly ends. Instead she feels him press his mouth harder against hers before capturing her bottom lip with his teeth, earning a whimper from Amy as she falls lax against him. Her fingers slide up his neck and under the ridiculous woolly hat, tangling in his soft hair. He kisses her deeper now, a desperation to his kiss as if he is terrified that at any moment she will disappear. So she clings to him and kisses him back just as fiercely, hoping her own desperation will silently communicate to him that she isn’t going anywhere.

“Get a room,” comes a leery, drunken voice from the other side of the street, and the pair break apart with twin gasps to see an elderly gentleman stumbling down the street, wagging his fingers in disapproval at the pair.

Jake presses his forehead against Amy’s.

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

The two of them smile and it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Then he kisses her again, soft and quick this time, before taking her hand.

“Do you want to come inside?”

“I would like that very much."

* * *

 

When they return to work two days later, holding hands and wearing matching unbearably happy smiles, Boyle greets them with a massive cheer as he punches the air and starts doing some odd celebratory dance.

“I knew it! I called it months ago! I knew it!”

He whoops again before patting Jake on the back, kissing Amy on the cheek and racing off, presumably to share his accurate prediction with the entire precinct.

 “I thought you two were already together,” Scully says in confusion as Boyle shouts back up the hallway something about ordering a cake in celebration.

“Didn’t you have that date in January when Amy wore the pretty dress?”

“That was for the bet, Hitchcock,” Jake says. “Do you ever notice anything going on around here?”

Thankfully they are saved from Hitchcock and Scully’s understanding of life in the Nine-Nine by Gina embracing Amy in a tight hug, ignoring Amy’s clear uncomfortableness and stiff posture at the sudden embrace that is so un-Gina.

“Hi, sister-in-law,” she chirps, causing Amy and Jake to both looked panic. “I’m only messing with you. I know it’ll take Jake at least three months to give you his grandmother’s ring,” she says before walking off, cackling at the fear she has instilled in the pair.

“Ignore her,” Terry says shaking his head in disapproval at Gina. “Congratulations. You’re good for him.”

“Hey!”

“He’s good for me too,” Amy says, squeezing Jake’s hand.

“If you stop him singing Taylor Swift when I’m trying to work then that’d be good,” Rosa adds from her desk. “And congrats I guess. But don’t be all cute in the office. Otherwise I’ll punch you. Both of you.” She looks at her screen before glancing back up at the pair. “And if you hurt her Jake then I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“Aww, Rosa,” Amy says.

“Same goes for you, Amy, if you hurt Jake. I’d kill either of you.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I’m pretty sure she could kill either one of us and make it look like an accident.”

“Or make our bodies disappear without a trace.”

“I guess we shouldn’t screw this up then.”

“Nope.” She doesn’t even try to fight the smile that breaks out on her face as she takes Jake’s hand in hers and squeezes it again.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” says a deep voice from their left.

Holt is standing beside them and Amy quickly drops Jake’s hand and attempts to look professional.

“Yes, sir. Jake and I are together. But I promise it will not interfere with our work at all. I would never allow a personal relationship to compromise the work we do here. Not that this is a relationship yet. It’s only been two days which is barely anything. I’ve had milk longer than that. But it is serious. I would never sleep with a colleague and risk a partnership without it meaning something.” She trails off as she becomes acutely aware that she is both rambling and oversharing. She had assumed that Jake would cut her off but he is now sat at his desk smirking with a satisfied look on his face, probably at the fact that she has just informed everyone that they’ve had sex.

“Santiago, I trust you and Peralta will continue to work well together as you always have. If that is the case then I see no need to terminate your partnership.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She drops down onto her chair in embarrassment but then Holt leans in closer to her and lowers his voice so only she can hear.

“I told you, Santiago, he simply needs a little encouragement sometimes.”

Then he is gone back into his office as if he said nothing at all and Amy cannot help but punch the air.

“What was that for?”

“Holt was mentoring me and I didn’t even realise! He’s my mentor!”

“You’re such a dork.”

“If I’m a dork then that makes you a dork lover.”

It’s not her wittiest retort but it makes Jake smile.

“Happy to be one,” he says, winking at her before focusing his attention on his computer.

But Amy allows herself a few seconds of gazing at her now boyfriend before she regains her usual professionalism and leaves any relationship stuff for outside the precinct. She can’t help but wonder, as she watches him toss one of his cheap plastic toys at Boyle’s head to get him to stop his incessant humming of ‘Here Comes the Bride,’ how she could have ever thought she didn’t want this. Exactly a month ago today she had been stuck in a tiny motel room with Jake for a stakeout, getting ready to break up with Teddy. Kind, sweet, safe, boring Teddy. How could she have ever chosen him over Jake? How had it taken her so long to realise exactly what she wanted after all? She imagines in another world that she always played it safe and never even considered what could be with Jake. And she finds herself so incredibly thankful that she didn’t choose that path. That she instead took the terrifying risk and faced her feelings for the man sitting across from her; the childish, goofy, irritating man who eats cereal from a mug and lives in an apartment where you literally have to climb a ladder to go to bed.

He’s not perfect but perfect is pretty overrated.

She flicks open the file on top of her desk and recognises it as the one she had been reading the day before Christmas Eve.

“Hey, Peralta, you want to go catch some bad guys?”

“And look good doing it? Absolutely, babe."


End file.
